He. Owned. A. Ship.
- Enekos
- Aug 2, 2023
- 6 min read
Some tales of lore are supposed to be forgotten. And perhaps the tale of the nameless tall ship moored in the port of Veraku should be forgotten. Those who were willing to speak, spoke little and often in riddles. The lore of the tall, nameless ship was filled with holes, long-departed witnesses and records that had been burned every time the night watch came to investigate another assassination.
The tall ship allowed anyone to visit, take what they wanted and leave. It was chaos, but some faces stayed, and they became proficient and wealthy. Everyone in the port of Veraku knew the nameless tall ship was home to Killers.
The elf paced around the deck, darkness his old friend beginning to wrap around him. He came here in a time of confusion, demonstrated his skills of silently killing like a whisper and risen to become co-owner of the nameless tall ship. Shady the Elf was unusually concerned. Where was she?
In the guild house of the Mafia Cats, Mearaithe was preparing to leave on a secret mission. He asked Jean Flint to manage in his stead. Jean agreed to build on what they had achieved and find a ship that would transform the Mafia Cats forever. Mearaithe donned his cap and slipped into the cold air of night. “See you soon, my friend,” whispered Flint.
The cobbles beneath her bare feet were cold and damp. Iron circles hung from the stone wall. There were no windows, but she sensed the sea nearby. A single candle flame lit her ‘room’ from its perch on a small wooden table. Of course, there were bars between her and that flame. And a guard. And some rats.
She too paced up and down, her hands clasped and her mind whirring with a single thought: ‘Think Penelope, think.’
“George Thomson-Ulysses, born in the year of 1480, you are hereby charged with seventeen counts of burglary, one hundred and forty-two counts of kidnapping and extortion, eighteen counts of brewing rum without a permit and thirty-seven counts of murder, how do you plea….” The lieutenant of the city watch’s words were cut short as a hidden blade was carefully inserted between his ribs, piercing numerous organs, which instantly filled with blood. The blade retracted silently, save for an audible click.
George Thomson-Ulysses, born in the year of 1480 looked at the lieutenant whose face betrayed a man who was quickly catching up with reality. “Not Guilty,” he whispered as the lieutenant slipped out of consciousness and into the arms of Oblivion.
Lady Penelope du Chemont had completed pacing and was now searching the walls for any loose stones. The soldiers of Veraku were not known for their clemency, but at this moment in time, she wasn’t entirely sure who her captors were.
Officers of the nameless tall ship ebbed and flowed like the morning tide. And no one kept records, so the origin story of the nameless tall ship was lost to time. Rumours in the local taverns suggested an Egyptian goddess was the original founder but no one knew. Or perhaps their code of silence prevented them from sharing the knowledge.
For now, the ebb and flow of officers had reached the point where Shady’s proficiency with blades, poisons, and the art of making new corpses from old enemies had become noticed and he now owned a ship. A nameless tall ship.
And that nameless tall ship had a queen who was missing.
Milan i milos paused at the steps of the temple – a pantheon to all the gods of Veraku. A sandstone statue, one-hundred hands high, depicted a bald man, his eyes wrapped with cloth where a buzzard had plucked his them so long ago. One arm clutched his edict: “Mind Masters” close to his chest, the other was outstretched to the distant stars.
Across Veraku, such statues of the blind monk were being constructed – as was his right as the patriarch of Veraku. He saw himself as a living god, a benevolent benefactor to those who loved him, and a ruthless and cunning foe to those who opposed him.
Milan i milos shook his head and mumbled ‘cunning as a bag of lemons,’ under his breath.
The pantheon overlooked the city, but Milan wasn’t a tourist, even if he had arrived via a nameless tall ship. Milan needed to speak to the temple guardians on a matter of immediacy.
Once inside, he explained that his family owned vineyards to the south and there was a tribute he wanted to make. Both temple guardians listened to Milan’s colourful depiction of the wines his family produced and how they had commissioned their own shrine to the blind monk. Their mouths agape, Milan’s vibrant story overtook their minds. In fairness, neither of these poor souls had read ‘Mind Masters’ and Milan doubted they could even read.
Milan paused for breath, taking a sip of water kindly placed by one of the temple guardians. “I think we have something else in common,” Milan continued. “I believe you have a prisoner and I have information about your prisoner. A lady – she says. She came to our home and gave us such a tale being stranded and needed money to travel north once more.” One of the temple guardians leaned forward. “It was all lies of course!” Milan threw his hands in the air for effect.
“So, we made a bounty – a good bounty. And many have seen the bounty. And I fear they do not respect temples the way you or I do.” He looked down, flicked his eyes open and cocked his head to one side. “I think that if you have my prisoner, then maybe I can confirm. If I know she is safe here, I may declare the bounty complete, and save you having to deal with swords and crossbows. And maybe you get the bounty, no?”
The elder temple guardian took a parchment from Milan and studied the face upon it. Perhaps it was the same person. He shrugged, handed the parchment back and suggested that Milan follow him down to the cells.
Lady Penelope’s search for loose stones had been in vain. The candle flickered and she became aware of footsteps. People in cells have numerous feelings: denial soon passes into fear of being forgotten, or fear of being remembered and then executed. But in this moment, Lady Penelope was in the stage of feeling very hungry.
Two men approached the floor to ceiling bars of her private chamber, one a temple guardian who’d been respectful since her arrival, but not very talkative. The other seemed a little more exuberant:
“Let me see this, Lady Augusta. Is this what you call yourself now?” Milan picked up the candle and held it the lady’s face. His eyes gestured that she should look down. A small pouch dropped to the floor. Lady Penelope smiled inwardly. They studied each other for a moment more. “Hold this,” he passed her the candle, then turned to the temple guardian and said: “Let’s go count some gold.”
The problem with ancient temples is that locks on cell doors are oft-less maintained than those of a real prison. As the echoes of Milan dissipated, Lady Penelope opened the pouch, caught the scent of sulphur, and poured a little into the lock. She took a short strand of straw from her mattress and pushed this carefully into the lock. Light the fuse and take a few steps back.
There was a short, searing fizz followed by a gentle pop. The cell door opened. Two more to go, thought Lady Penelope.
George Thomson-Ulysses walked onto the nameless tall ship and nodded to Wynn the just, who was just mopping the deck, following a small accident with his latest delivery to the ship. Wynn procured things. Sometimes without the other person’s knowledge. No, often without the other person’s knowledge. He was quiet, and easily forgotten. That was handy because when the last drunk had been thrown from the tavern, and the owner had climbed the stairs for his slumber, Wynn would emerge from the shadows, descend into the cellars, and procure useful items for the nameless tall ship.
Why did people always bite the gold coins they were offered? Milan i milos was true to his word and had given the temple guardians twenty pieces of gold each – a month’s payment and a promise they would deliver Lady Augustus (or whatever her name was) to a rendezvous on the road to Adinya the following morning. The temple guardians beyond happy with their luck, that they failed to feel the effects of the toxins laced onto the gold coins. It wouldn’t be lethal, of course – that wasn’t Milan’s style. They’d become sleepy and somewhat forgetful. The effect would last for days and by that time, Lady Penelope, and her dear friend Milan i milos were safely aboard the nameless tall ship.
As days became weeks, life aboard the nameless tall ship continued as usual. There was death of others, an exchange of property and gold, often followed by more death. People came and went. The night watch came several times to see the bonfires of old parchment records. Shady smiled. He. Owned. A. Ship.
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